The Fold
by Spastic Asian
Summary: AU Hermione had suppressed the memories of her other self for 9 years. But now, her memories are coming back with a vengeance and without her past, there will be no future. The mystery is, what part does a certain blond play in her real life?
1. Prologue

Summary: AU Hermione had suppressed the memories of her other self for 9 years. But now, her memories are coming back with a vengeance and without her past, there will be no future. Maybe she'll also find out the identity of the mysterious boy that haunts her dreams…

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Prolougue

_Click. _It was a nice suburban house, with sky blue weatherboards and a brown tiled roof.

_Click._ Flowers were planted around the perimeter of the property, though the actual lawn was empty save a lone shrub on the right side of the front of the house.

Holding the camera, he crept out from behind the oak tree across from their house and walked across the street carelessly, knowing that no mortal eyes could see him. The pitter-patter of his feet was the only sound in the desolate street, but the unobservant occupants of the houses would never think to look outside to investigate the noise, even if it wasn't two in the morning.

_Click._ The left side of their house held one window. The curtains were drawn tightly, and like every other window in the neighbourhood, it betrayed no indication whether the inhabitants were awake or asleep. As he walked towards the back garden, his ears picked up a sound from inside, heading towards the back door. He shrunk into the shadows, slinking against the fence, feet gracefully avoiding the flowers planted into the soft soil. Flipping over the back fence and into the branches of a pine tree in the forest behind their property, he took out the camera from within the folds of his black ninja style uniform, which was marked with a red 'Z' encircled over the left breast. He held the camera up, and positioned the red cross on the middle of the back door, waiting.

The rear doorknob clicked hesitantly, and the door opened a fraction, enough for the small girl of seven years to slip through. _Click._ She was of below average height for her age, with dark hair, and was dressed in black pants and over robe. Slung over one shoulder was a heavy bag, definitely more weight than a girl of her age should be carrying.

_Click. Click. Click._ She looked to and fro, rampant curls escaping her ponytail and cascading around her face with every movement. _Click._ Apparently satisfied that there was no one around, she stepped fully out of the door and closed the door gently behind her. Click. Her bare feet tread across the lush grass and brought her to the gate, mere metres away from the tree he crouched in, camera following her every move.

_Click._ The clinking of the gate as she struggled to undo the pesky clasp seemed louder than it should. _Click._ The wooden gate swung open, hinges creaking as it admitted its lone guest. She stood directly under the tree as she closed the gate softly, and then began rummaging through her bag. He dared not take any more photographs; though the gentle clicking of the camera was masked by several concealing spells, it wasn't completely inaudible. He swore in his head. Such a high tech camera and the producers didn't think to make it silent. Of course, he thought with a smile, the camera's purpose wasn't for stakeouts of potential threats. Stroking his thin moustache, he observed her actions, her head bent down, and hair obscuring the opening of the bag. She tossed her loose hair suddenly, and a glint of silver from inside her bag caught his eye.

With a flourish she closed her bag, swung it on her shoulder and moved on. The camera clicked furiously after her as she walked through the forest, weaving between the trees with ease. It was apparent that she had taken this route before. When he was sure that she was out of earshot, he dropped down from the tree, camera still clutched in one hand. He set off after her, always keeping her in sight, using the zoom function of his camera.

_Click. Click._ She had started running, fallen autumn leaves and twigs crunching under her feet. Gritting his teeth, he mentally prepared himself for the chase. He checked his watch, which marked him as a pulsing green dot nearing a green circle, and the girl as another green dot, closer to the circumference of the circle. Almost stumbling, he realised that she was indeed, one of them, and once she entered the circle he would have lost his target, and months of meticulous plotting and photographing would have gone to waste. Increasing speed suddenly, his feet flew across he ground, displacing the forest floor.

Metres away from the target, his palms tingled, a sure sign that the sensors surrounding their fortress had detected him. Damn. That meant less time for him to apprehend the target. The girl was sprinting now; the same signal that had detected him had probably just informed her of his presence. He threw his camera high up the in air, an eagle swooping to catch its strap within its clawed feet. With a loud caw, the eagle flew off to the safety of their headquarters, protected much like the fortress that was less than one hundred metres in front of him.

The girl was within his grasp, he could hear her quiet breathing in the eerie silent of the forest. Animals always knew when to stay away. He saw his opening as the left strap on her bag slipped slightly. Lunging forward, his hand grabbed the narrow strap in a vice grip and pulled it back sharply, the momentum causing the girl to lose her balance and fall backwards, the bottom of the bag's strap cutting into her armpits. She raised her arms and slipped free of the bag, with the intention of running to her freedom. However, she did not anticipate the she would fall ungracefully on her backside, as there was nothing to support her anymore. He swung the bag forcefully, making her head snap to the side as the heavy books collided.

Despite the dull throb and uncoordination that usually followed a blow to the head, she pushed herself off the ground and onto her feet, only to fall flat on her face as that wretched bag contacted with her skull again. Lying with her hands above her head, the two massive bumps pounded her brain and slowed her usually incessant train of thought, leaving her only able to take ragged breaths of the chilly early morning air. The sharp smell of damp dirt and crushed leaves perforated her senses and she slowly became aware of a crushing weight pinning down her arms and legs. Her hands curled around some of the maple leaves littering the ground, nails digging into the dirt as she vainly tried to formulate a plan of escape.

He was not a big man, of average height and build for a typical twenty nine year old. Rather on the scrawny side actually. However, his uniform hid his muscles, though not bulging out like that of a macho, macho man, impressive nonetheless. Had his pint sized captive been, at most, twice her current age, she would have most definitely had the upper hand, instead of being forced down on the ground, her elbows held down by his large hands and the rest of her body squashed as well, as he was sitting on her thighs, knees bent in, squeezing her ribcage tightly.

She was the brightest student to be trained in the fortress, already on her second to last year of magical studies, though she would have been finishing this year at the rate she was going. Athletically, she could defend herself from every type of your ordinary run of the mill baddies, though her current opponent was anything but normal. Flips, twists and turns that would take months for the best gymnasts to perfect came to her like instinct. The loss of such a brilliant young thing was detrimental to their side.

He dragged her right arm to her side by the elbow and crushed it between his knee and the side of her ribcage. That left him with a free arm. Grabbing her mess of hair, he yanked her head back, causing a shriek of pain, and turned it around to face him. What little moonlight there was could not penetrate the thick forest canopy, so neither could make out the other's features. He wasn't worried about this; he had enough photos of her to map every freckle on her face. She, however, scoured his face with frenzy, looking for that unique scar or mole that would mark him.

"How is the fortress protected?" he asked gruffly, using Occlumency.

She sneered silently. She had experienced more forceful brain probes from three month old babies. Her contempt must have been felt by him, as he promptly slapped her across the face, her neck twisting awkwardly with the action.

There. The collar of his clothing shifted slightly, coinciding with a sudden burst of weak moonlight. But it was enough for her to see a scar, running down his left collarbone, descending into the darkness below the open neckline.

He slapped her again, a second red handprint appearing on her right cheek. She wondered, smiling at her brief victory, if he did it out of fear, for she saw his eyes widen as he registered that she had noticed the healed gash.

"How is the fortress protected?" he asked again.

Her incompliance was rewarded with another painful sting to her cheek. She could feel his anger rising, starting to cloud his judgement. Her time to escape would come soon.

The same question came again, irritation creeping into his voice. She stared at him blankly, knowing that it annoyed him so. _Slap._ Across the other cheek this time, the force pushing her face into the hard ground, her lip splitting in the process. She lifted her head, spitting out dirt, leaves and blood. A rough hand seized her chin and turned her back to original position, nails digging into her skin.

"You tell me how the fortress is protected, girly, and I might spare your life," he barked, so focused on getting an answer out of her that he subconsciously loosened his grip on her other arm. Next thing he knew, pain exploded in the middle of his face, and he was pushed to the side. Roaring with anger, he reached out towards her, clutching his bloody nose with the other hand. Her flight was stilted as her left ankle flew into his outstretched hand. He dangled her in midair, waiting for the red to subside from his vision. Acting in anger never did him any good.

She squirmed and wriggled uselessly, trying to use her fists and foot to cause him some type of pain. He avoided her kicks and blows with ease, apparently deep in thought. Then, without warning he flung her out to the side, hitting a tree trunk. She fell to the ground, curled into a foetal position, winded and helpless. To make matters worse, the roots of the tree were digging into her back, causing her even more discomfort. Thick smooth cords wrapped around her body, restricting what little breath she had. Eyelids fluttering, she groggily focused on the cords wrapping her head to toe, arms flexing to test their strength. A gasp escaped her lips as she was suddenly in midair again, scalp burning as he held her up by her thick hair.

This time he was much more careful. She was stronger than any of them had expected.

Again he laid her face down, pinning her down. In one quick action, he freed her left arm, arranged it in a new position and bound it again.

She cursed herself for not paying closer attention.

"How is the fortress protected?" he asked once more, a satisfied smirk on his face. He was holding her forearm and hand.

Too stubborn to answer, she wondered if it was worth her time to explain to him that there was more than one charm on the fortress and to describe them all would take at least a week, and someone with his mental capabilities would never understand. Not that she would tell him.

"Alright, I'll take your silence as a no," he laughed, cold and merciless. Without warning he bent her index finger back, chuckling even more when the snap rang out in the soundless forest.

She bit her lip, determined not give him the upper hand by crying like a little girl, even though that was exactly what she was. Remember the breathing techniques taught to her by her masters, she retreated into a state of semi-consciousness, where the pain could not be felt.

With a mocking tone in his voice, again he asked, "How is the fortress protected?"

Again she remained mute.

This torture went on with neither budging. He moved onto her right hand.

She did not open her lips once, even as she felt two, or maybe more, of her ribs crack from his weight.

The pain was unbearable, and though she would never betray her kind, she feared that he would take advantage of her weakened state to force the answers out of her by Occlumency. There was only one thing she could do.

She starting breathing in rhythm, the same rhythm that trees breathe through winter. In. One. Two. Three. Four. Out. One. Two. In. One. Two. Out. One.

Retreating within her mind, she found her special place. She had activated it back when she was at the tree, for she had forseen danger. Now, she crawled into it, fitting snugly. She pulled in all her memories of their resistance with her, all the spells, people and plans. Her eyes glazed over and all her bodily functions slowed, to the point where it seemed like she was dead. Hoping that he would believe that and then leave, she started closing the clasp, shutting it off from the rest of her thoughts. She would remember in time.

The small silver locket, in which she had fled, was strewn on the ground when her bag was dropped. It disappeared.

He stalked away angrily. Before he disapparated, he gathered up her things. Maybe they could learn something from them.

As she lay bruised and battered, her old self took time to leave just one memory. Of the boy with sunshine hair and mercury eyes, the only one that could help. Her last though, before her conscious slipped away, was that today was her birthday. Born at two pm, on March 29th.

She was already eight years old when one of the search parties found her.

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A/N You like? You no like? Review anyways, I get discouraged if I don't get review. Now I'm not threatening you, just saying that I would like it if you reviewed. Now. :)


	2. 1 Code Name Demetrius

Summary: AU Hermione had suppressed the memories of her other self for 9 years. But now, her memories are coming back with a vengeance and without her past, there will be no future. Maybe she'll also find out the identity of the mysterious boy that haunts her dreams…

Oopsies, I never put a disclaimer on my prologue, silly me. To compensate, I'll put two in this chapter.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter!

And again…

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter!

A/N Okay, I had some time issues. I wanted Hermione to turn 17, but then there was an extra year missing, so now I'm changing my summary, so that she's suppressed those memories for nine years, not eight. Oh yeah, and I changed her birth date to 29th of March, not May, because JKR said that it was before April!

Also, damn you JKR! You killed off a really important character! I have thought of a way around it though. This current chapter ties in with the last few chapters of Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince, and sorry about the long delay, the chapter that I originally wrote in place of this one will become chapter two, so expect the next update to be quicker since I've already written most of it. I had to rewrite this whole chapter from scratch after HBP came out :(

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Chapter Two: Code name Demetrius

"I'll be fine, I'll be with Dumbledore," said Harry. "I want to know you lot are OK…don't look like that, Hermione, I'll see you later…"

Hermione watched his back, blurred by tears, as he walked out of the portrait hole and off on yet another dangerous mission.

"Righto…well I'll stay here and watch Malfoy," Ron said, gesturing at the Map. "You go and rustle up some DA members,"

She nodded mutely, then started her silent journey up the tower. As she passed the second corridor, the entrance into the Fourth Years dormitory, a person lunged out of the darkness behind her and clasped a hand over her mouth before apparating them. Hermione hadn't realised anything was wrong until they were apparating, which she didn't bother to struggle through, as it was down right risky.

To her surprise, he let go of her as soon as they reappeared with a pop in a conference like room. She stood at one end of the large rectangular table, facing a rather stern looking lady at the other end. A rather mismatched bunch of witches and wizards sat at the sides, staring at her unashamedly.

"Her?" A witch, with a rather shrieky voice, said with disdain.

"Oh shut up Chrys, you know that she's the only one that can help," her captor said wearily, before sitting down in an empty chair.

Both of these voices seemed quite familiar to Hermione, but she couldn't deal with these oddballs right now, she had to help Harry save the wizarding world.

"I'd love to stay and chat," she began, her voice rising hysterically with every word, "but­-"

"You have to 'rustle up' some DA members to '_fight_' Lord Voldemort," Chrys said mockingly, spitting out the word 'fight'.

Around the table, people laughed bitterly, presumably at some sort of inside joke that was unknown to her.

Hermione was now on the verge of tears, again. It was imperious that she got some backup, and _now_, instead of wasting her time listening to a bunch of people that were obviously in support of the Dark Lord. These people obviously didn't care about what could happen if she didn't, but she did. She turned around, turning the doorknob angrily. She pulled out her wand when it wouldn't open, and tried every unlocking charm known to her, frustration growing with every passing second. She was distinctly aware that everyone's eyes were on her, and wiped her eyes irritably.

There was a shuffling noise behind her, and the stern old lady at the head of the table appeared at her side. "Hermione," she said gently, "I know that you have no idea who we are, but you must trust us,"

"No!" she cried, "Harry-"

Chrys let out another bitter laugh.

"That's enough out of you!" the lady said, having the same ability as Dumbledore to effortlessly control even raging Hippogriffs.

Chrys slouched lower in her chair, glowering at Hermione.

"My name is Augusta," the lady said, introducing herself formally.

"Charmed," Hermione replied sarcastically.

"I know you're impatient to help…Harry…but there are more important things afoot," Augusta said placatingly.

"What, may I ask," Hermione said quietly, voice trembling slightly, "is more important than saving the world?"

"My dear, have you forgotten our cause entirely?" Augusta replied, startled. She raised Hermione's chin with her forefinger, and peered into her honey brown eyes. "My…Demetrius was not exaggerating when he said that she had sealed it completely…" she murmured, sharp eyes moving on to examine her every feature.

"We can't restore her memories…Demetrius is still in possession of the locket," her captor said flatly.

Chrys snorted loudly. "So we send _this_…" she paused, jerking her thumb at Hermione, "to rescue the only person that can restore her memories?"

Hermione stared at them blankly. What memories? She looked towards her captor, who seemed to be on her side. "You…Mr. Kidnapper…"

"Artemis," he provided, patiently awaiting her next inquiry.

"Yes…Artemis…what memories?" she asked.

"This is not the time or place to discuss this…hell, we couldn't restore them if we tried. Unless of course Demetrius was here…" he trailed off.

"You know what? We're just wasting our time, with _this_," Chrys jerked her thumb at Hermione again, "I mean she _obviously_ doesn't understand anything…why can't I do it?"

"Patience is a virtue, Chrysanthemum…she is the only one who can carry this out, I have explained before," Augusta shushed a near frantic Chrys.

"Demetrius and I are _twins_! How can _she_ be closer to him?" she shrieked, "And it's Chrys!" she added.

"Chrysanthemum, you of all people should know that worldly relations must bow to deeper connections!" Augusta reprimanded, still using her full name.

Chrys glared at Hermione, as if it was all her fault.

A blonde witch spoke. "This is all very confusing for her," she stated simply.

"Yes…why of course," Augusta steered Hermione into a chair. "It's best just to tell you what you have to do,"

"I'm not doing anything until someone explains what the _hell_ is going on!" Hermione yelled, jumping up.

"Calm down…for all extents and purposes, lets just say that we are a club," Augusta said, pushing Hermione back into the chair.

Hermione opened her mouth to speak once more, but was cut off.

"And you were once a member of this club…but then you erased all your memories of the club, to protect yourself,"

"From what?" Hermione cut in.

Augusta made a hushing noise. "Now, one of the members of our club, Demetrius, has been…er…kidnapped by a member of a rival club, and you are the only one who can rescue him,"

"And why would I do that?" Hermione said crossly, thinking of the time she was wasting here.

"Because you care for him,"

"How can I care about this Demetrius person if I've never met him?"

"You have met him. You just can't remember,"

Talking to Augusta was like talking to a wall. She could see that she couldn't get out unless Augusta permitted it, and the only way that she could get her permission was to rescue this Demetrius person.

"Alright…" Hermione said grudgingly. "I'll go rescue Demetrius…even though I have no idea how to rescue him or even what he looks like,"

"That's the spirit!" Augusta cheered.

"What exactly am I rescuing him from?" she inquired, impatient to get the rescue over and done with.

"He's been confounded, by the other side. Unconfound him, is as easy is that," Augusta said with a smile, opening up the door.

"But-" Hermione started, before the slamming door cut off the rest of her words.

She had half a mind to completely ignore what had just happened. Neville ran up to her, standing in the astronomy tower corridor, huffing and wheezing. "I came as fast as I could!" he said, taking in big gulps of air.

Hermione was leaning against the wall, hands clasped behind her back. Something heavy fell into her palm as he spoke. Bringing her hands to her front, she saw that it was the Galleon that they had made last year for the DA. Where the serial number was, the words 'Astronomy Tower Corridor' had been etched.

Soon there were more footsteps, and Luna and Ginny arrived, both holding their coins. All three looked at Hermione expectantly. "Ah…Harry told me to contact the DA members, Malfoy might be doing something tonight. We're to divide the remaining Felix Felicis among us and take it if there's a battle," Hermione said calmly, taking the potion out of her pocket.

"Where's Ron?" she asked the group in general, as she conjured up four more stoppered vials.

"He's coming, went back to get something," Ginny said, watching Hermione's actions. Hermione was tapping each of the conjured vials in turn with her wand. After this she tapped the vial the held the elixir and muttered a few words, causing potion to be divided equally among the vials.

Ron came up the stairway and sprinted towards them. "Had…to…go…back…to…get…map," he said, between frantic breaths.

Hermione gave each person a vial, and watched as they sprinted off. Clearly Augusta had covered everything, and now all Hermione had to do was rescue this Demetrius character.

Feeling rather silly, she walked down the stairs, off to rescue someone.

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Demetrius held his wand hand up, and pointed it at the most vile person ever to have lived. His control on him had been waning for the past month, and he had finally been able to break free. Now the roles were reversed, and his captor was at his mercy. "Expelliarmus!" he cried, watching with satisfaction as his wand flew out of his hand.

There was a small popping sound, and a dark haired man appeared. Demetrius swore in his head. The protégé had arrived. "Old man, you've gone weak if you can't even control one insolent teen," the protégé sneered, making no move to help him.

"My weakness is only due to your constant usurping of my power," said the old man, gazing in the distance.

The protégé spat on the ground. "You should have known better than to teach me all that you knew,"

The old man chuckled. "I knew that would come back and bite me in the ass," he said conversationally, in a manner totally unsuited to a person being held captive by both enemy and friend.

Demetrius eyed them carefully, assessing the danger. The old man was certainly weakened, however he always seemed to have something up his sleeve. His current cheeriness was indicative of that. The protégé was younger, and was as strong as his master, stronger now that the master was weakened. But he was cocky, too sure of his imminent success.

Hopefully they would kill each other, thus his side winning the war.

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Hermione walked along the corridors, instinct and Felix Felicis guiding her. The Death Eaters had arrived, and she had already disarmed and tied up two in her quest to rescue Demetrius. There was a curious scene up ahead and she hid behind a suit of armour to watch.

A blond boy stood, wand pointed to the chest of…a weird sensation, not unpleasant, came over her, and the name of the old man suddenly eluded her. Another person, dark haired, stood next to the old man, and was currently locked in a fierce hissy fit with him.

She assumed the blond boy was Demetrius, the Felix Felicis hadn't been wrong yet. He seemed to be holding his ground so far.

Listening to their conversation, she deduced that Demetrius had been confounded by the old man, but had broken free. The black haired man was some sort of…lackey that was enjoying his momentary control over his leader.

The old man was staring straight at her, hidden behind the suit of armour. She told herself that he couldn't see her…she was concealed, but a sinking feeling in her stomach told her otherwise. His eyes imprisoned her within his gaze, and slowly she felt herself been drawn forwards from her navel.

Cords tied themselves around her, and he gripped her throat tightly.

Demetrius looked livid, and the old man smiled. "Found your weak spot, I have," he taunted.

"Let her go!" he yelled, wand hand shaking with anger.

_Funny_, Hermione though, _how she was sent to rescue _him, _and now he needed to rescue her_.

The dark haired man stood there silently, waiting for an opening. He did not want to kill the girl, she was strong and currently very vulnerable. A great asset to their side.

He was trembling now. "I'm warning you…I'll kill you if I have to…"

"You won't kill me," the old man said soothingly, tranquillity lacing his words.

"I…won't?" Demetrius replied uncertainly, lowering his wand slightly.

Hermione watched, alarmed, as Demetrius' eyes glazed over. He was being confounded again. Damn it, that would mean that she had to save him.

"No…you won't…I'm your friend…the black haired man is your enemy…"

Demetrius then pointed his at said man, who growled in anger. In one quick motion, the man stunned Demetrius, then accioed him to use as a human shield.

"You cannot kill me," the old man said calmly, appraising his disciple.

The younger shot a killing curse, only to have it rebound as the old man conjured up a wall of liquid black fire.

"I've never seen that before, _master_," he sneered, upping the bravado as he was momentarily shaken by the prompt reflection.

The old man threw Hermione to the side, the black haired man following suit. They circled each other, frenzied and ready to duel.

Hermione sawed off the bonds using the serrated edge on the suit of armour. She then massaged her neck, imprinted with fingers. Lastly she pulled out her wand, and enervated Demetrius.

"Hello," she said, looking into his grey eyes. They were still glazed over. She clicked her fingers in front of him impatiently, determined for him to focus on her at least.

"Hi," he groaned, trying to get the fuzziness out of his head.

"Are you okay…Demetrius?" she asked hesitantly.

He groaned again, thrashing and clawing at his head. Hermione had a very odd feeling that Demetrius was not his real name and that she used to know who he was.

"Do I know you?" she whispered, a feeling of nostalgia washing over her, threads of hidden memories slowly coming to light.

"Yes, you did,"

Her eyes widened, as an image started forming in her head. The edges were fuzzy, but clearing with every passing second.

Demetrius shook his head, clearing the last of the confoundtion out of his head. Hermione was staring down at him, wide eyed. He released with a snap that she was beginning to remember. It wasn't time.

She opened her mouth slightly, brows creasing with confusion. "Dr-"

_I'm sorry_, he apologised in his mind, before wiping her memories once more and pushing her away.

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A/N Yes, I know it didn't make sense! It's not supposed to. Okay, think of this chapter as being post Prologue but Pre-Main Story. All we be explained next chapter!


	3. 2 Birthday Girl

Summary: AU Hermione had suppressed the memories of her other self for 9 years. But now, her memories are coming back with a vengeance and without her past, there will be no future. Maybe she'll also find out the identity of the mysterious boy that haunts her dreams…

A/N After the confuzzlement of the previous chapter, prepared to have some of your questions answered! E.g. how they were able to apparate within Hogwarts? The first half of this chapter will probably confuse you more, but everything will be explained in the end! This is gonna be one hell long chapter, I can feel it.

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Chapter Two: Birthday Girl

Hermione laid face up under her duvet, examining her hands. Bright sunshine streamed in through the window, providing her with ample light to do so. The backs of her hands propped up the faded blue duvet.

There was a curious scar on her left hand. It was in the same position as her heart line, but ran along a completely different course. It was at least a year old, faded and barely distinguishable on her lined hand. She frowned, trying to remember when she had gotten that particular cut. It was probably one of her memoirs from all those fights with Voldemort. With this thought she dismissed the mysterious scar, and scrutinised her right hand.

The same scar was present. And it was her wand hand; she could only count one instance where she had injured that hand, and it did not leave her with a scar like that.

The scars were no accident. The fact that they were identical suggested that someone had deliberately marked her. She flopped over on her stomach, concern growing with every second, emerging out of her duvet so she could look at her hands properly.

Tracing the left scar with one finger, she tried to think of something that could explain how old scars that she had no recollection of getting, or ever seen before, could appear out of the blue. There was a niggling feeling at the back of her head, and an image flashed before her eyes. A dark room. Sitting cross legged on her bed, across from a boy.

Her palms tingled suddenly and the scars disappeared again. Hermione frowned as the spell took hold, wondering why she was staring intently at her hands.

Turning onto her side, facing her desk, she burrowed under the covers, trying to recall the dream she had last night. It was one of the strange, vivid dreams that seemed more like memories. She could remember every emotion, every touch she felt, but never the people in it. Their faces slipped like water through her mind, just staying long enough to leave an enticing imprint of what had been.

There was a boy. It was always a boy, and he always visited her dreams the night before her birthday. He had climbed in through her window, nearly tripping over her desk.

"You moved your desk," he stated, surprised, standing in the middle of her floor. The first moments were always awkward.

He moved his arm jerkily, placing it around her.

She tensed, feeling the heat from his hand on her back, and relaxed again a moment later, stepping forwards into his embrace. He exhaled, resting his chin on the top of her head.

"Thanks for rescuing me last week. Sorry about shoving you away like that in the last minute," He hugged her tighter.

"It's alright, I understand," She understood completely. Understood that the old man would kill her – and him – in a heartbeat if he found out who she really was. Understood the need for secrecy, until she could be reinitiated into The Fold.

"I've missed you," he murmured, stroking her dark hair. The strands were thick and silky, with a hue like melted chocolate.

"I don't get that luxury," she stated, squeezing her eyes shut. Pine trees. He always smelt like pine trees.

He said nothing. He didn't need to. "Why are you crying?" he asked softly, moving his hand down to caress her cheek.

"I'm not," she replied stubbornly. She hadn't let one drip of weakness pass her eyelids.

"But you're about to," He grinned, pressing her even closer. She was his stubborn mule.

She sighed. "I hate not knowing, deceiving myself like this...forgetting you,"

For a moment they just stood in silence, enjoying each others comforting presence. The he kissed her cheek gently and walked towards the bed, still holding her in his arms. They laid down together, fitting snugly like jigsaw pieces, facing each other.

"I expect I'll see you soon," he said cryptically, tendrils of breath skirting along her temple. He started stroking her hair again.

She opened her mouth to speak, but was hushed as his thumb grazed her lower lip.

"Sooner than you think,". He tangled both his hands into her hair, brushing it off her face. He adored her thick, glossy hair. Then he leaned in hesitantly, pale lips slightly apart, and kissed her lips softly, albeit very briefly.

She pulled back gave an unladylike snort, hitting his arm lightly. "Call yourself a man! What was that?"

He smiled, flicking her nose. "Just testing the water…"

"Well dive right in," she teased, before she captured his lips.

In the dream she had fallen asleep in his arms. Hermione sighed, remembering his hands, callused but gentle, conducting electricity that sent shivers through her soul with every stroke. But, she thought matter-of-a-factly as she swung out of bed, it was only a dream.

The mid morning sun kissed her back, lighting up her honey features as she put on her pale pink dressing gown and walked out of her room, to the bathroom around the corner. She yawned as she walked through the door, tossing her hair back. She brushed her teeth and washed her face, then set about attacking her hair with a comb. The teeth were arranged in a peculiar fashion, specially designed for thick, curly hair. Ron had bought it for her last Christmas in a sudden burst of intelligence. The wooden handle was engraved with her name.

After finishing her morning duties, she padded down the stairs for breakfast, wearing her Garfield pyjama pants and sleep shirt under her dressing gown. Her parents were still in sleep gear too. Lynn, her mother, was standing next to the toaster. She looked to be deep in thought, idly taping the butter knife on her plate. Her father, sat at the kitchen bench, reading the Sunday newspaper, glasses perched on his nose. He looked up at her as she walked past him to open the fridge, and smiled before resuming his read.

After pulling out a bottle of orange juice, she closed the door got a clear tumbler out of the cupboard, in which she poured the juice. The first sip was bitter, she remembered something her dentist parents once told her about how the toothpaste reacts with orange juice to make it bitter.

The toast leapt up energetically, and her mother was jolted out of her thoughts. "Oh hello dear," she said absent mindedly to Hermione, grabbing a tea towel and cleaning up a non existent mess.

"Happy birthday," she added, coming to her senses and reaching to grab the toast out of the toaster.

Hermione was quite bemused. Reaching over her mother to grab a bowl, she filled it with cereal and milk before sitting down next to her father on the bench. No one ever used the table unless it was a special occasion.

"Happy seventeenth," Graham Granger said proudly, putting down his newspaper. Lynn joined them, sitting on the other side of Hermione. They both hugged her, leaving Hermione very squashed and content.

"How much longer do we have the pleasure of having our only daughter with us, before you go gallivanting around the country, saving the world?" her mother asked, a hint of sadness in her voice.

Hermione smiled. School term had ended early after Dumbledore's demise, and she had been back for a week so far. Her parents had taken the news of their (her, Harry and Ron's) mission quite well, though had eyed Ron with caution when she mentioned that he was her boyfriend.

Boyfriend. She felt a twinge of betrayal towards the blond haired boy in her dreams, but dismissed the feeling quickly. Just a dream.

Her parents had then met and approved of Harry, and the entire Weasley clan, bar Percey, whose head prevented him from speaking to his family.

"We thought we'd take a three week break to spend with family, then spend a week tying up loose ends, finances and the like, then one more week getting supplies. So four more weeks, though I don't think you'll see that much of me in the last two weeks,"

"Our little girl all grown up and saving the world..." her dad teased, eyes crinkling in a smile. "Here's your birthday present, by the way, along with some money that we'll give you later,"

From under a pile of magazines, her father produced a rectangular package, wrapped in silver gift wrap. Hermione looked at it curiously, wondering if it was book. Tearing the corner carefully, she saw a sliver of red. Opening further, it revealed a handsome leather cover, embossed with a silvery green dragon. Running her fingertips over the cover, she could feel the magic lying dormant within the pages, waiting to be unleashed. The dragon opened one sleepy eye, and Hermione gasped as it mewed a greeting to her. She should be used to these things by now.

"It's a diary," her mother explained. "We were at Flourish and Blott's, the clerk said that it's protected by the most stringent anti…well…_everything_ devices and is virtually indestructible,"

"Yes, we thought it would be a good investment," his father said, beaming. He didn't get to see his only daughter very often and sincerely hoped that she knew how much he and her mother loved her.

"Thanks so much!" Hermione enthused, tracing a zig-zag pattern down the book's spine.

Her mother laughed suddenly. "I remember finding my diary from when I was about seven, in the attic. I had such funny handwriting and couldn't spell a thing!"

Hermione frowned, wondering if she had any relics from her childhood. She had always though it odd that she could never remember anything before the age of nine. Her father's next comment proved her point.

"I remember getting a notebook for my sixth birthday," he mused. "I swapped it with my elder sister for a box of chocolate,"

"I can't remember anything before the age of nine," Hermione piped up suddenly, frowning. "Why is that?"

All action stopped at her words, and the toast tumbled out of her mother's hand, landing with a dull thump on the bench. To her horror, her parents exchanged a Look. Hermione steadied herself on the chair, awaiting the bomb, the one that always followed the Look.

Her mother sighed, brushing a lock of greying brown hair out of her face. Her father took of his glasses and polished them on his sleep shirt. They both suddenly looked as if they had aged ten years.

Hermione gripped the kitchen bench. Everything had stilled, and all that could be heard was the ominous ticking from the kitchen clock.

A few more moments passed in silence. Her mother stood up jerkily, just as her father opened his mouth to speak. Exchanging another one of those Looks, Lynn walked out of the room.

Hermione turned from watching her mother retreating back when a warm hand enclosed hers. "Hermione," her father called gently.

"On the eve of your eighth birthday, there was an incident,"

"What kind of…incident?" she asked timidly, faintly aware of echoing footsteps in the background.

"We aren't too sure ourselves…but someone had attacked you, and left you…in the forest…" _to die_ he added silently.

A plain brown box was placed in front of her. "These are all the psychiatrists notes, newspaper clippings and etcetera," her mother said, waving around her hand haphazardly, before sinking wearily into the chair.

Hermione lifted the lid off apprehensively and started to sift through the contents. There was a photo, cut out from a newspaper. The grainy quality of the photo combined with the yellow of age made the details hard to see, but Hermione could still make out the crumpled figure lying battered on the forest floor.

Her hand flew to her mouth. She dropped the cutting, as if it had burned her, and picked up the next photograph with trembling hands.

In startling quality, a heavily bruised face under a heap of brown hair, entrenched with leaves, was covered by a mass of machinery. Plastic pipes ran from a breathing apparatus into her nostrils, and a scrap of gauze covered her split lip.

"Two broken ribs, split lip, bruised kidney, twisted ankle, collapsed lung, head trauma and multiple broken fingers," Lynn stated in a flat voice, looking down at the image that would forever haunt her. She began to cry.

Graham offered his wife no comfort, too lost in his own thoughts; the endless search, growing more and more frantic every passing minute and the disgust. Absolute disgust at the person – still uncaught – who did this crime.

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off by a strange noise. She closed her trap and listened intently, for reasons unknown to her at the time. At first she just thought it was the ticking from the clock, but dismissed this theory as the ticking grew louder and more frantic. Her mother, red eyed and distraught, did not notice anything, though the sound did seem to be nearest to her.

Slowly, realisation dawned to Hermione.

A bomb.

A dragon's fierce roar erupted through the kitchen tiles, uprooting them and shattering them on contact.

This same force then slammed Hermione and her parents onto the wall, before dropping them rudely back on the ground, thankfully avoiding most of the big chunks of tile.

_Sleeping Dragon_, her traitorous mind whispered, as Hermione opened one eye to check the extent of the damage. Shapes were indistinct in the shroud of dust, but Hermione could see her parents' auras glowing brightly, much to her relief.

Another roar sounded from the living room, followed seconds later by one in the bathroom, then downstairs bedroom.

_Sleeping Dragons never wait alone_

The house was bucking on its knees, trying valiantly to hold itself up. Hermione pulled out her wand (she never let it leave her side) and levitated her parents, running to the front door with them in tow. She had to get out before…

The front door fell towards her and scuttling cracks appeared on the corners of the wall, racing each other along the ceiling. There was a deafening crash and the house imploded on her. She crouched down low, hoping beyond hope that they would survive as she closed her eyes and awaited the imminent pain.

Contrary to everything she expected, she felt no crushing weight of rubble, no shrapnel biting into her skin, just a constant ringing in her ears, the only reminder of what was happening. Clouds of dust buzzed around her face, each particle brandishing a spear, attacking her sensitive eyes and nose with vigour. She blinked slowly, each blink lodging more dust in her eyes rather than cleansing them. Eyes watering and throat choking, she stood up, hoping to get clean air. There was a thin blue dome around her, preventing the debris from touching her. As she stood, the dome pushed up part of the house's second storey, which had only broken in two, bending like a balloon under its weight. Unfortunately this dome also trapped in the vindictive dust.

Through streaming eyes, she saw a figure apparate with a pop onto her front lawn, dashing madly towards her. He grabbed her hand, wincing slightly as his arm passed through her shield. Her arm was nearly wrenched out of its socket as he yanked her forcibly, out from under the half decimated building. She landed on her palms, facing the ground, panting to breathe in more of the blessed fresh air.

Seconds passed by, and Hermione realised with dawning horror that her parents were still trapped. She scrambled back to the remnants of the house, inserting her fingers between the jagged base of the second storey and the crumpled remains of the first. Tears carved lines in her face as she tried desperately to lift up the top half of the house, roof and all. Her hands agitated the serrated rubble and were mercilessly butchered, the blood tricking down to paint crimson pictures on her broken home.

She shook with tears as she realised that it was all useless, that there was so way she could save her parents. Screaming with anger, she cursed the sun for shining so brightly and the earth for not swallowing her like it did her parents. Her neighbourhood had already been roused by the thunderous crash and were now tentatively watching her screams from their porches and through their windows. Her mother's slipper was hiding under a loose boulder and she momentarily ceased her screamed to extricate it. Clutching it tight to her chest, she howled once again.

Soon, her voice grew hoarse and she fell to the ground, the slipper slipping out of her hand also. Digging her fingernails into the ground, she willed herself to stem the flow of tears. She took a deep, shuddering breath, lifting her hand to wipe away the last few tears that refused to stay unshed. A few moments later, a shadow glided into view and her blond captor crouched down, to her eye level. Whatever semblance of control she had gathered shattered as his face slid into view.

Before she was fully conscious of her movements, her fist connected with the side of his face.

He looked at her incredulously, rubbing his smarting cheek. He opened his mouth to speak, but she beat him to it.

"_Why_ didn't you save my parents?" she demanded angrily, rearing for a fight.

"I didn't have time," he said softly, evidently not taking the bait.

"Well…couldn't you _try_?" she wailed, tears welling up again.

"I had barely enough to get you out, let along you parents," was his reply. The damn logic of his words was unclouding her thoughts and she was loosing that unrestrained fury. He looked uncomfortable, and hesitated to speak his next comment. "Also…they had been killed instantly by the collapse,"

She pushed at his chest savagely, making him topple backwards, and then stood up. Standing with her hands on her hips, she glared down at him. "How did you know they were killed instantly?" she asked furiously.

_That's my girl_, he thought sourly. _Never misses a beat_.

"That's a good question, I'll explain later…" At this she grabbed the front of his shirt and raised her fist again. He put his hands up in defence, hastily retracting his comment. "I can't say in front of the Muggles…" he said lamely, not wanting to provoke her any further.

"I'll modify their memories," she growled, moving her fist closer to his face.

"With what wand?" he pointed out, raising one eyebrow.

Her grip slackened, and so did her face, taut with anger. Once again she was a little girl that had just lost her parents. He swore under his breath at his lack of tack, and reached out to comfort her. Through hiccupping sobs she knocked away his hand and ran away, still clad in her sleepwear.

He climbed to his feet, yelling out her name with desperation, but she had already rounded the corner. He still sprinted after her, turning the corner just in time to see her disappear into the woods behind the houses on her street.

"Hermione!" he bellowed again, stumbling into the forest after her. She knew the forest well, while he blundered along, tripping over roots. There was a sharp noise, like a whistle or a bird's call, which drew his attention up to the sky. Of course, he couldn't see the source of the noise, but this slight distraction caused him to fall flat on his face. As he lay there, listening to the chattering of malevolent squirrels, a sparrow flew over him and excreted on his head.

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Twirling a pencil languidly and leaning back in his chair, Art waited for Demetrius' entry. He had sounded very, very pissed over the intercom. "How'd it go?" called Art called out as Demetrius limped through the door, clothing rumpled and dirty.

Demetrius scowled as a reply. "What do you think, you fucking knob?" He gestured at his dishevelled clothing. At Art's arched eyebrow, he continued. "I twisted by bloody ankle chasing after her, and a bird crapped on my head,"

"Did she remember?"

Demetrius paused. "I don't think so. She was hysterical, I mean with her parents getting squashed and all, so may not have realised,"

Art smoothed a hand over his dirty blond hair. "The others get here at one o'clock," he announced.

"Thirteen hundred hours!" Demetrius reprimanded, deadly serious.

Art chucked his 2B Faber Castell pencil at him, hitting him squarely on the nose. "If you're such a rule abider, why don't you swear less like Augusta says?" he retorted over Demetrius angry yell.

Demetrius rubbed his nose irately, smudging the lead, much to the amusement of Art. "That's…different…" he insisted, shooting death glares at the other boy.

Art checked his watch again. 10:49.

"She'll come," he stated.

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The anniversary of her birth had to be cursed or something. She couldn't remember any of her birthday's before and including the ninth, and had just found out that someone had tried to kill her on her ninth birthday. She broke her arm on the tenth anniversary. On her eleventh, there was a disastrous birthday party, where everyone went home crying and full of salmonella infested chicken, brought over by her well wishing next door neighbour. She preferred to have quiet birthdays after that. Her dog died on the twelfth, followed by her cat on the thirteenth. On the fourteenth, she discovered that her best friend, Hannah, from when she was at Muggle schools had spread rumours about her, and past schoolmates would throw eggs at her when she passed. On the fifteenth, her old schoolmates found out the extent of Hannah's lies, and threw her a surprise birthday party. All was going swimmingly until Hannah decided to gatecrash and slapped her. Then on her sixteenth she introduced Ron and Harry to her friends. Someone or _someones_ slipped a bag of Ton-Tongue sweets into the bag of snacks Ron and Harry bought.

A car beeped at her, and she jumped back onto the footpath in surprise, thinking she had been too lost in her thoughts and hadn't noticed the car. In contrary, it was just a testosterone fuelled joke. She could tell by their raucous laughter.

The last hour she had spent wandering, and the rage had been slowly worked off. She began to see it was not the blond strangers fault; she should have thanked him for saving her life.

She could get by without them - hell that's what she'd been doing for the past six years. Immediately she threw up, disgusted at herself for this thought, no matter how true it was. Her stomach contracted painfully as it forced its contents up her oesophagus, the acid burning a path up and through her mouth. Throwing up on an empty stomach was the worst. As she peered, slightly perturbed, at her vomit, images swirled on its surfaced.

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She was light as air – lighter even. In under two hours, she had made in into town. People were staring at her as she drifted past, but she paid them no attention. The Oblivate Charm placed around her allowed their eyes slide off her floating form and focus on more normal things. With acute sharpness she remembered everyone. Demetrius. Artemis. Augusta.

With remembrance, came clarity. Her parents unfortunate death, her predicament with Ron and Dumbledore's death, they all made sense now. There was only one thing left to do now.

She threw herself off the cliff.

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Art leaned on the table with his head in his arms. Around it sat four other people, three of them also in this state.

"It's been over an hour!" Chrys whined, looking pointedly at the clock.

Demetrius, the only alert one, made a hushing noise. "She'll be here soon," he insisted, looking at the screen which showed close circuit footage of all the rooms and doorways of their headquarters.

Chrys rolled her eyes at Patience, who smiled lazily.

Stefan seemed to be asleep.

Without warning, Demetrius stood up and typed rapidly on the computer, his chair falling backwards with a sharp clang.

Neville leaned over and whispered to Stefan, who had been jostled awake by Demetrius. "I don't see why he gets to his feet to type when he gets excited,"

"I heard that!" Demetrius snapped. "She coming in one of the back ways," he proclaimed.

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Hermione knocked on the plain door. Immediately it was opened by Demetrius, who had saved her. "Thank you for saving me," she said politely. "Demetrius,"

His grey eyes widened at his code name, and his heart leapt. She remembered! He reached out to hug her, only to find that she had already walked past, and was reconciling with the others.

"Arty!" she shrieked, hugging the stunned male. He patted her back enthusiastically, making funny thwacking sounds on her wet clothing, before pulling back to look at her. "It's like I'm looking at you for the first time," he said quietly. "You seem taller," Sure, he had seen her millions of times in the halls of Hogwarts, but back then she was always overshadowed by Potty and Weasel. On her own, she looked slight different, more confident. Stronger.

She beamed at him, bouncing on her feet. "Oh but it is you who has grown!" she said, reaching up and ruffling his hair. "You used to be my height – your hair's gotten darker too,"

He smiled fondly at her, glad that he'd gotten his best friend back.

Demetrius stared at the pair, hands clamping the table edge. He wasn't jealous. Of course he wasn't. He tightened his grip even further. Suddenly all resistance from the table was lost and he fell, forehead greeting the table.

Dazed and confused, he lifted up his throbbing head.

"Smooth," Artemis laughed, conjuring up an ice pack.

"It's not funny," Demetrius said dejectedly, gazing at the two pieces of table he held in his hands.

Familiar hands enclosed his, and he looked up to see Hermione extricate the wood from his hands. He looked at her expectantly.

She lowered her gaze, staring blankly at the alien wood in her hands. "My wand was in the house,"

"Why do you need the wand?" Demetrius asked, struck by a sudden feeling that something was wrong.

"Don't need…can't fix the table with no wand," she replied, giving him a strange look.

"You don't need a wand to fix it,"

"Yes I do, if I want to fix it properly,"

Demetrius tilted his head to the left, looking at her from an angle. "What do you remember?"

"I remember you, and Artemis, and Augusta…and your blonde twin…some of the teachers…" she responded.

"No events? None of the teachings? Just the people?"

"Just the people," she confirmed, tilting her head also. "F…" she started, squinting her eyes in exertion. She was about to remember something, but an unknown force had stopped her.

He straightened up, and then clapped his hands together. "Right, she has to be de-wormed,"

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Hermione sat in the chair, trying not to squirm as her legs and arms were clamped down. She yelped, as the back of the chair suddenly reclined. It wasn't a chair after all, it was an operating table.

The brunette girl, Patience, brought over a faded blanket to cover her with. Machines whirred to life around her, the most disconcerting one being the claw like structure that had just pulled down the back of her pants and underwear, via a hole on the table. The cool metal fingers rested on her buttocks, the middle of the contraption hovering over her anus.

The rest of the team walked in, wearing latex gloves and facemasks. The small dark haired boy reached up and pulled down a clunky steel box attached by a wire to the ceiling. Hermione couldn't see the other side, but the side she did see looked like a giant compound eye, spherical lenses lined up all in a row.

It was placed on top of her chest, covering her from neck to bottom of ribcage, shoulder to shoulder. Again she yelped, as the table plunged suddenly.

"Sorry about that," said the dark haired boy, with a faint Russian accent. "I'm short, you see. Can't see up that high,"

She nodded nervously, narrowing her eyes to avoid getting full glare from the bright light above.

The lights dimmed and the machine jumped to life, hanging taut on its wire string. The others looked at the top side, faces sombre. Travelling down the length of her body, it stopped suddenly at her left knee.

"Ew!" Chrys shrieked, staring with gross fascination at the box. The underside emitted a green light, and then moved itself up to the pelvis. Directly over her anus.

Hermione squealed, as something cold and metallic was rammed up her backside. Eyes watering, she felt it move back down her rectum. The descent was jerky, like an impatient owner tugging on a leash. With a sickening _shlup_ it exited with its prize.

Another claw pulled her pants back up, then brought a plastic jar in front of her face. Her limbs were released and she sat up, taking the jar, while the table became a chair once again.

Through the clear plastic she could see a small green worm, length of her finger and width of a needle. It writhed around in what seemed to be agony, heaving the top half of its body up high in hopes of escaping. Waving its head left and right, the green of its skin lightened and it shivered, collapsing back to the ground. It shuddered spastically, ends curling up and turning brown. With one final spasm, it died, completely blackened.

Dropping the jar, Hermione threw up.

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After a cup of green tea she felt much better. They had moved to yet another room, this one filled with numerous cushions.

Hugging a furry star shaped cushion to her chest, she waited for them to start talking. Since the removal of the bug hadn't refreshed any of her memories, they thought they'd best tell her themselves.

They sat in front of her in a semicircle. At the left was Artemis, then Demetrius, Chrysanthemum and Patience, rounding off with Stefan. Currently their heads were all put together, deciding on a plan of attack.

Trying not to think of the worm, she wondered what they would tell her. She was certain that they were some sort of club, though their purpose eluded her.

Artemis cleared his throat, attracting Hermione attention. "Let's begin at the start," he said, stretching out his legs and leaning back into the bean bag. "First of all, everything you have ever known to be true about magic or anything affiliated with it is a load of horse manure,"

He held up a finger to silence her. "Do you remember what happened when we sent you to rescue Demetrius about a month ago?"

Hermione shot a quizzical look at Demetrius, who didn't give even the slightest indication of a response. "No, I don't," she said, resting her chin on the cushion.

"Oh," He paused, then decided on another way of telling the tale. "Well, about fifty years ago, there was a powerful wizard by the name of Samseron. He wanted power, and would go to any lengths to obtain it. Over the course of a year, he designed magical worms – like the one you had – to implant into people,"

"What did they do?" Hermione asked, feeling nauseous once again.

"They made people see what he wanted them to see. Samseron started this infection in London. It spread with human contact, through kissing, sex, blood and the like. Within a month, everyone in London had got it, and it was travelling fast. By the end of the year, more than 95 of the country had got it,"

"What exactly did he _want_ them to see?" Hermione asked. This Samseron bloke sounded an awful lot like Voldemort to her.

"Well, he had built up a small but faithful gang of followers. They would kidnap seeming random members of society. People would normally have gotten suspicious, but the worms made them docile. It made them see things as they always were. Nothing had changed to them, but in reality everything had."

"Seemingly random did you say?"

"We'll get to that. Anyways, with most of England under his influence, he made himself their leader and completely isolated the Muggle and Wizarding societies. Before Samseron, nearly half the Muggles, particularly those in rural areas, knew of our existence. He fed the wizards notions that Muggles couldn't accept them, that they couldn't possibly understand, via the worms. By doing this, wizards began to think that wizards and Muggles simply couldn't mix, and that's the way things had been for as long as time itself. He then created many of the strictly wizarding structures, like Hogwarts and Diagon Alley.

Since many of the Muggles had come across something magical, he slowly erased their memories of it. Dragons, elves, unicorns – all become folklore. The few witches and Muggles that still remember gradually forgot too. It's a funny thing that the mind does. Would rather accept the safer option. Now that he had completely segregated the country, his real plan began.

The people he had kidnapped, they were chosen for their stubbornness. Inability to renounce their beliefs and faiths. Now, Samseron had realised in his youth that the human body produces a particular _ray_, shall we say, whenever it is put under high level of emotional strain. He would mind rape his subjects, making them experience a spectrum of emotions and recording the emission of the ray for each emotion. Guess which emotion gave off the most rays,"

"Happiness?" Hermione guessed tentatively, hoping for a happy ending.

Artemis chuckled bitterly. "No. Fear. Hope. Grief. These were the top three,"

"Hope, that's good," Hermione said desperately, not liking the way this story was going at all.

"Depends how he used it. The exact reason he wants these rays is still unclear to us, but since then he has exploited the wizarding community, making them experience these three feelings plentifully,"

"Why just the wizards?" Hermione asked.

"Wizards on average produced five times more rays than Muggles. He still exploits the Muggles though, just when he is especially low on these rays, and some of them produce even more rays than us wizards,"

"In short, he's using us as batteries?"

Artemis paused. "I guess you could say that,"

"So how is he making us produce these rays?"

Artemis smiled sadly. "Oh you're going to love this, freshly de-wormed and all," he gave another painful smile, "Scare tactics. Ever heard of…Voldemort?"

Hermione's mouth slowly opened, as she realised the implication of his words.

"Voldemort doesn't exist. Never has. He was just a figure that we could fear,"

It felt as though a corset was being pulled tighter and tighter around her torso, robbing her of breath. "But…but…what about Harry?"

"Harry Potter doesn't exist!" Chrysanthemum screeched suddenly, face going splotchy and red with anger.

"He was just another stimulant, something for us to focus our hope onto," Art confirmed, hating the look on Hermione's face.

Though she wished that none of it was true, Hermione couldn't deny herself the truth any longer. More present than her initial denial was a feeling of déjà vu. She had heard all this before.

"So is everyone still enslaved by the worms?" Hermione asked, dreading the answer. She couldn't stand the thought of everyone she had ever cared for being controlled.

"Yes and no. Things have changed since fifty years ago. We're the third generation," he made a circular gesture, encompassing all of them. "We've built up a resistance, to the worms and to his crusade,"

"Why me?" Hermione asked suddenly.

"Truth be told, you caused a fluctuation in the ray emissions. We had a mole in their laboratory, you caused quite a stir. Everyone's rays are emitted at a particular frequency. Yours was at 1.618. A magical number. The most magical. From the moment your brain was fully developed, you were different. He had tagged you, wanting to take you and do who knows what. We got there first,"

"Were the rest of you at this frequency also?"

"No. Some of are at other magical frequencies though. We've had several successful intercepts since yours. The rest of us were found by chance. Children that were particularly imaginative and perceptive,"

Hermione swallowed, trying to take it all in. Her mind was swirling, and her head hurt, but she had the most amazing feeling of completion. "I think I need some water," she breathed, light headed.

Taking the offered glass, she drank slowly, every droplet sharp in her mouth.

"Are you okay?" Demetrius asked, detecting a change in her behaviour.

"I think I need some sleep or something," she said faintly, already lying down.

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Demetrius sat in a chair, watching Hermione's even breathing. They had moved her into a room, and he had offered to take first watch. The door creaked, and Artemis slipped through.

He sat down on the chair next to him, looking at his other best friend in concern. "Look mate, I've never asked you this before, but what did you talk to her about when you checked up on her every year?"

"Everything," He elaborated no further.

Artemis shifted in his seat. "I've always wondered this, since you two didn't get along very well…but why were you chosen to check up on her?"

Demetrius leaned forwards, resting his elbows on his knees. His light blond hair fell in his eyes. "I asked Augusta the same question when I was picked to go…she said that she originally intended you to go, you were her closest friend. But at the last minute, she decided she should let fate decide, and fate picked me. I'm guessing she rolled a dice or something," He then propped up his head with his hands.

"Did she remember back then?" he asked, brown eyes focusing on Hermione's sleeping figure.

"Yea. The first time I went, before her tenth birthday, she remembered that my birthday was two weeks before hers, and gave me this silver chain for a late birthday present, not wanting to fight with only connection she had left with the world," Demetrius tugged on the collar of his shirt, revealing a thin chain.

Artemis noted that it was obviously well cared for, not tarnished in the slightest. "So you two made peace?"

Demetrius nodded. "She remembered last night too, painted a picture for me,"

Artemis nodded also. He had seen the picture. It was a portrait of his family, showing them as they were. When he had asked Demetrius earlier, he had mumbled a reply about it being a gift. "You're not telling me something," he realised. Demetrius never talked about his parents. He had thought that he was the only one who knew about them, but apparently so did Hermione.

"I fell in love with her," he replied simply, staring entranced at Hermione through his fingers.

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**A/N** Okay, yea, the ending was corny and stupid. Wait, I mean ending for this chapter, the story's nowhere near finished. Yea…well I had no other way of saying that in uncorny ways. Please accept my lame excuses; there shall be no further corniness. I will try my very hardest. In this chapter there was also my lame attempts at humour, say the word and I'll stop.

If anyone gets knows the identities of Augusta (HINT: Real name used), Demetrius, Chrysanthemum and/or Artemis, I will be very pleasantly surprised. Chuffed even. May even send you a prize (virtual, unless you live in a country that I can post to with under $2.40 worth of stamps)…no I probably won't bother with a REAL prize, but get your hopes up anyways. Yea…a review will be much appreciated; I go into fits of happiness when I get them


	4. 3 I can't think of a title

**A/N** From now on expect shorter but more detailed chapters. Knowing me, that's a load of bullcrap and they'll get ridiculously long again.

I have mocks, starting on the 12th and finishing on the 22nd. Then I have the last day of term on the 23rd, and two weeks of holidays after that. This will be my last update before the exams. I'll probably update sometime during the second week of the holidays.

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Chapter Three:

Hermione woke with a very startling possibility.

She wondered for a second why she was wearing her pyjamas, and then she remembered that she had never taken them off.

Judging by the darkness and the nocturnal chatter, she assumed it was about two a.m. That wasn't too late.

She flung off her blanket, getting to her feet. The floorboard creaked as she applied pressure, and she quickly leapt off that particular area of the floor. Striding quickly to the door, she opened it and dashed down the twisting hallway, letting her instincts take her. Reaching a door, she wrenched it open. Hastily shutting the door, she jumped on the bed, its occupant turned away from her.

"Fuck off," he said drowsily, pulling up the blanket that she had pulled down.

Hermione frowned. He wasn't Artemis. But she was absolutely positive that the scent she had been following was Artemis'.

A gust of wind pushed the curtain aside, entering the room and huffily messing up their hair even further. Wild moonlight took this opportunity to light up the room. With business-like efficiency it coloured his messy hair light silver. Through curls of dark hair she saw her pale, luminescent, moonlighted arms, holding his shoulders. He was sleeping on his back, half turned to the right. One arm was under his head, the other at his side, near her thigh for she was sitting atop him. The spirits of the moonlight had certainly bewitched her, as she was slowly drowning in his image. His skin, paler than even hers, seemed as thin as rice paper. In a trance, she traced a perfect parabola, from the corner of his eye, around his cheekbone, stopping at his jaw. His skin on hers felt so familiar. His curved lips opened a fraction; she sunk a little deeper.

Agonisingly slowly, he opened his eyes. The moonlight painted the eyelashes silver, like his hair, though they looked dull compared to his iris; crystallised mercury.

Turning his head, he smiled languidly at her, re-arranging his features in a seldom used position.

She clutched his shirt, shivering as the wind whirled around her. Focusing desperately on his bright eyes, she tried to fight the black tide creeping up on the edge of her vision, hoping that he would save her.

But the wind suddenly retreated, taking the moonlight with it. She knew that she was dry as sand yet felt completely drenched.

She licked her lips nervously, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Seemed better to just forget it entirely.

"Sorry to interrupt your sleep, but I just had a thought," she said, starting to recapture some of the enthusiasm she had before.

He gazed up at her, sitting on top of him nervously. He smirked. She looked nervous the last time she was in that position too. Raising an eyebrow, he signalled for her to continue.

"Well since Voldemort doesn't exist…does that mean that everyone he killed is still alive?"

Demetrius sighed. He propped himself up, leaning back on his eyebrow, then ran a hand through his hair. "No. Voldemort doesn't exist, but Harry does, to some extent. Unlike Voldemort, Harry actually has a human form – it just doesn't look or act like the 'Harry' you know,"

Hermione frowned, thinking this new idea through.

He continued. "Have you noticed that the only person that has ever actually seen Voldemort was Harry? He was the only one that saw Voldemort's head on the back of Quirrels, the only one that saw him get resurrected in fourth year, and the only one that got a proper look at him at he Ministry,"

"But Cedric-" Hermione started, then stopped as realisation hit. Dead men don't talk. "But there were also heaps of eyewitnesses that saw Voldemort at the Ministry,"

He arched his eyebrow again. It was oddly comforting to her. "Yes, quite a few people saw Lord Voldemort for about three seconds before he disapparated,"

Hermione shut her mouth.

His abdominal muscles were moving under her, and before she knew it his cool cheek was against hers as he moved his lips to her ear.

"Hermione," he whispered. She shivered. "Female form of Hermes, messenger of the Gods. You may have noticed that we don't go by our real names – from now on neither do you. Welcome to The Fold, Hera,"

He took her left hand in his and traced a symbol, an 'S' with the two ends joined with a straight line. She felt a familiar tingle rush through her body as his skin made contact with hers again.

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Demetrius allowed himself to breathe in her scent, just for a second. Any longer and he would completely lose his mind. Again.

What was torture? Having your soul mate forget who you were, completely and totally. Watching her today, glowing with happiness to be reunited with Artemis, made him more than a tad jealous. They may have been best friends when they were younger, but she was _his_ girl now. In her absence, Artemis had been quite lost. Demetrius had always been a loner, and preferred it that way. But The Fold was built on teamwork and trust – all that corny crap that sold millions of cards every year. So naturally they were teamed up.

Demetrius also preferred to have no attachments, and now he had two major ones hanging on his back, weighing him down. He had learnt the hard way why not to get attached, and now the Hermione situation just added to his numerous list of reasons why. He was a soldier dammit, didn't need sissy feeling holding him back.

He was still holding her hands in his, her body inches away from his. He leaned in, comforted by her presence. She immediately tensed. "I have a boyfriend," she announced. "And even if I didn't, I wouldn't start a relationship with someone I barely know," she said, drawing back, though a terribly traitorous part of her wanted to stay.

He looked into her eyes, holding her gaze firmly. "I know you better than you think, better than anyone else,"

She frowned. "From what I remember about you, we were never particularly close. We were always bickering,"

"Things change," He paused. "Do you honestly not remember anything about me from the age of nine upwards?"

"What's there to remember?"

He searched her eyes. Last time they had met, three weeks ago when he had finally broken free of that old mans curse, she had started to remember immediately, and he had to stop the trail of memories. Now, she couldn't even remember to remember. What had changed?

"Go get some sleep," he told her gently, picking her up off his lap and ushering her out the door.

She left quietly.

Climbing back into bed, he was left to ponder his rather complicated thoughts. Ever since he had been confounded by the other side, he had the distinct feeling that someone in their group was a traitor, and had erased their memory of something very important in the recovery of Hermione's memory. The question was what?

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Hermione slipped back under her sheet. Demetrius and her had not conversed much, but it was what was left unsaid that bothered her the most. He hadn't answered her when she had asked what was there to remember.

They obviously had some sort of history.

But she was with Ron.

_Ron_. How did he fit into this complicated new world? Making a mental note to ask someone tomorrow, she tried to get some sleep.

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When Hermione arrived at the main kitchen in the morning, she had remembered several things overnight.

Demetrius and Art were sat, side by side, eating their breakfast in silence. "Bread's on the counter, apricot jam in the first cupboard from the left, middle shelf," Demetrius said absently, stirring his soggy cornflakes.

She paid no attention to his words, though spared a brief thought to wonder how he knew of her favourite jam, and sat across from them on the table, large enough to fit at least 10 people.

"Ron," she stated, looking at them for an answer.

Artemis swore. "You tell her the bad news this time," he told Demetrius.

"Ron's what we call a puppet," Demetrius started, making no effort to sugar coat his words. She was a big girl, she could hear the truth straight up.

"One of the few identified ones. They're people who are unusually submissive, so the worms dictate their behaviour, and are literally human spies for Samseron,"

Hermione unconsciously wiped her mouth, thinking about how she had kissed Ron when he was just a robotic droid.

Funny, did that mean that he didn't really like her, that it was just the worm? She has spent the majority of her time at Hogwarts pining after him, wonder why he didn't like her, and the other half denying that she ever did. Well, looks like it was out of her hands now.

Slightly alarmed by how little it took to accept that and move on, she asked the next question that had been bugging her. "Where is everyone?"

"Your turn now," Demetrius said, resuming the playing of his food.

Artemis sighed. He always got the harder ones. "Remember, three weeks ago, that big fight between 'Harry' and the Death Eaters?"

She nodded.

"That was really a big battle between us and The Circle. The Circle are the enemies," he explained, thinking back to that dreadful night…

_Artemis rushed out into the entrance hall. Demetrius was collapsed on the ground, freshly unconfounded and in no position to fight. An all out war was breaking out between the Master of The Circle, Samseron, and his oldest disciple, and many Circle members were storming into the castle, uncertain to which side to take._

_Suddenly the protégé lunged forward and stabbed Samseron with his wand. In slow motion he seemed to sink to the ground, before shrivelling up, much like his worm creations. _

"_Attack!" the protégé snarled, glaring at the crowd building up behind him. _

_They had not yet spotted him, but it was just a matter of time before they did. Levitating Demetrius, he turned tail and ran as fast as he could to the Room of Requirement. The battle was beginning._

_Dumping Demetrius in the room, he noticed that it was empty. The others must have already gone out into the fray. From the ceiling hung a swing stick, glowing a light yellow colour. This fight was serious if all the troops had been contacted. _

_The smell of blood overwhelmed him as he stepped back out. Wishing that the blood was not shed on his side, he ran down the corridor, not stopping to check the identities of the bodies littering the ground, fearing the worst. _

_Monsters, bodies insufficient as shadow, brandished sharp weapons at him, hollow eyes staring through him._

_Cries of the injured formed a melancholy melody._

_Serrated cuts, bleeding daggers, reminded him that it was all very real._

Noticing her staring at him with concern, he swallowed. "They were all killed," he said thickly, looking down at the brown coloured milk, once pure, but tainted so easily.

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**A/N** A review would be much appreciated


	5. 4 Returning

**A/N** Storytime! Gather around my children…cackles evilly

Oh and before I forget, I disclaim ownership of Harry Potter! Its all lies!

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Chapter Four: Returning

To break the uncomfortable silence, Demetrius spilt his milk on himself. "Fuck!" he cursed, wiping at the crotch of his pants. "Oh fucking hell!" he exclaimed, storming out of the room, still muttering a string of filthy, vile language that echoed in the hallways and made a lovely chorus for the new rousers.

"Pay no attention to him, swears in his sleep," Artemis said offhandly, finishing off his last Fruit-E-Bix. Hermione blushed, remembering her little 'incident' with him. Oh ho ho, if only you knew….

Clapping an arm on her shoulder, he announced, "Right, well I've got some paperwork to do, things to file…so I'll see you at lunch," and proceeded to walk out of the room. At the instant a still scowling Demetrius walked into the room, redressed in martial art garb. "We're training," he directed at her, throwing her a matching uniform, with a little more force than needed. She looked at the heavy white fabric and then at Demetrius, grey eyes clouded over. Then back at the clothing. She supposed she should get changed in her room. She walked past him, lightly brushing his arm. "It's okay," she said gently.

He stared at her, watching her hips sway as she walked to her room. It would have been about nine years since she last trained. This would be interesting.

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Hermione hit the mat full on her back. "No fair!" she called out, huffily standing up.

"What's not fair?" Demetrius drawled, crossing his arms.

"You're not fair! You know I haven't done this in ages – you can't just go and flip me as soon as I walk on the mat!"

"So I guess the Circle's gonna-"

"Oh don't give me that 'the enemies not going to wait' crap!" she said exasperatedly, hating to hear that stupid phrase.

"What does that sign say, Hera?" he said to her, pointing at a wooden plaque on the wall.

"Respect your elders," she read.

"Right, and for that bit of disobedience, you get _this_," he quickly knocked her legs down, making her fall on her back again. "Get used to that position,"

She glared at him, smirking down at her.

"Ready?" he asked, holding out his hands in the defence stance. She nodded. Ooh, she was going to kick his ass when she remembered how to.

He kicked at her stomach. She ducked, hearing the whoosh of his foot above. She grabbed his leg while it was still in the air, with the intent of throwing him from that point. But he twisted easily out of her grasp, even knocking her to the side. He aimed his fist at her face, she only just rolled out of his way. Being on the ground was bad.

He held her arms down as she tried to get up, and pinned the rest of her down with his knees. "What did you do wrong?" he asked.

"I got on the ground," Hermione panted, not liking him being so close. His clean pine scent was distracting and made her head go funny.

He climbed off her. "Let's try again,"

This time when he punched at her, she blocked. She blocked every single one of his punches and kicks, and was feeling pretty happy about herself when suddenly the big blue mat greeted her again.

"What did you do!" she accused, narrowing her eyes. He hadn't even broken into a sweat.

"YOU weren't watching me," he retorted.

"I damn well was! How could I miss watching your big fists looming at me!"

"You weren't watching my body language, just my hands! That's how you missed that sweep I did,"

She glowered at him. She didn't like it when others were right. This time she would win. She threw a punch at him. He easily deflected it, feinted to the left and hit her right shoulder. She hit back at his, but he deflected it again. Losing her cool, she fought with fury, throwing kicks and punches at random, relying just on her instincts. Matching her equally, they fought with no discernable winner, until Hermione collapsed with exhaustion, cheeks flushed and hair stuck to her head with sweat. He sat down beside her, breathing hard also, though not as tired as she. He leant over to talk to her. "I think we've got you back to your original standard," he said, amused.

She looked up into his face, taking up most of her view. His blonde hair flopped free, waving from their tips, partially covering his eyes. Hermione was absolutely sure she had seen him somewhere before. Grey eyes, eyes that would look colourless on anyone else, glinted as he stared back into her hazel ones.

He leant over further.

At first she wasn't quite sure what was happening, but as his eyelids slowly descended, she panicked, and quickly moved her head to the right. The effect was that his soft lips brushed the crook of her neck, and she tried to ignore the mad feeling to take him right here, right now.

He pulled back and looked at her questioningly, one eyebrow arched.

"Its…You…I don't like you that way!" she spluttered, standing up quickly and running to the relative safety of the changing rooms.

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Several exciting things happened during lunch. She sat next to Arty, and across from Chrys, who glared at her between moody stabs at her food. Two boys sat at the other end of the table, talking with the foreign chap. She was sure she used to know their names. Across from the foreign chap was Demetrius, sitting on the other side of Arty. Demetrius looked up as her gaze ran over his familiar face, trying to place him, and she quickly looked away, at the girl with long mahogany hair, sitting at the head of the table, trying to shrink into it. The way her hair swished, butterfly ornament glinting in the sunlight…déjà vu.

The first of which was George Weasley. She could tell, because Fred looked…different. He came strolled in the front door, banging it open with one hand and taking off his sunglasses with the other. "It's a bit hot out there…" he called, removing his leather jacket. His green shirt went surprisingly well with his hair. He turned around, and immediately spotted Hermione. "Blimey! Her-"

"_Hera_," Demetrius interjected.

George waved him away. "Yes whatever, Hera. Welcome back!"

He leaned over Arty's meal of pasta to give her a tight hug. "Well, I can't stay and chat now, but save me a seat next to you at dinner, okay?"

She grinned and waved, watching him hop back on that manly motorbike. Brm brm.

The next exciting thing did not happen until the meal was nearly finished. Hermione was quite enjoying the pasta. Sure, the sauce was a little chunky at places, the pasta slightly soggy, and it was _just_ a little burnt, but it was filling. No one else really seemed to share her taste though and spent most of the meal pushing the little spirals around.

Finally, Demetrius threw his forks down in a clatter. "When's Mr. Chan back? No offence Chrys but your cooking sucks,"

She turned her beam of hate towards her twin brother. "_Excuse_ me? I don't see anyone else complaining!"

The two boys sitting at the end of the table looked from Demetrius to Chrys, wondering whether to voice their opinion.

Hermione frowned. Like everyone else sitting at the table (except for the foreign boy) they reminded her of people…but who?

The others sat in uncomfortable silence. "Well do you see anyone eating the food?" Demetrius pointed out, seeing as no one would back him up.

Chrys narrowed her eyes.

"Even you're not eating your cooking!" Demetrius continued.

_**SLAM**_

Demetrius hit the wall, force jostling the paintings hanging on it. One hand clutched around his throat, he threw out the other, pinning his sister to the other wall with his recently vacated chair.

"Enough!" the girl with the butterfly ornament yelled, standing up with her hands on the table, small frame shaking.

Immediately, both released each other, and resumed their rightful places at the table.

"Sorry," Chrys whispered, looking down with shame at her plate.

"Me too," Demetrius added shortly.

Several more minutes passed in silence, with only Hermione eating. "Pass the salt please-" she paused, thinking of the foreign boy's name. "Stefan?" she guessed.

"Yes that is my name," he replied, nodding. He sent the salt to her with a flick of his index finger.

The two boys at the end of the table looked at her in surprise. "I'm Sin," the older one said. "And this is my younger brother, Smith,"

"Aw, we could tell her our real names, we can trust her and the others," Smith whined, looking to his brother for approval.

"NO! Against policy. Anyways, who knows who could be listening right now…" He hushed his brother as he opened his mouth to make more protests.

"Me, Smith and Stefan are the tech crew. The backbone of all missions," he informed her.

She nodded. At this point, some higher being decided the time was ripe for a round of introductions.

"The rest of us, and you, are field operatives," Art said. "That's Demetrius-" he gestured to the blond. "Chrysanthnum, or Chrys," he added quickly, seeing the murderous expression marring her angelic features. "And Pascal," he finished. The girl with the butterfly ornament dipped her head lower.

"Of course not all of us are here, there's-"

"J'Adore, head of Mystery and Disguise!" a voice announced. Hermione looked around for the source of the noise. There was a swishing sound and a dark skinned man, about the same age as George, with dreadlocks appeared near the hallway door, wearing a silver cape over his orange jumpsuit.

Hermione took a drink of water to cover up her laughter.

"_Anyways_, that's J'Adore, but there's also Patience, Morticia and Gred, who you just saw," Art continued. J'Adore pulled up a chair and sat down on it backwards, between Demetrius and Smith.

Hermione covered her hand with her mouth as she nearly spat out the water. Gred…was that what George's code name was? It was all very ridiculous. In fact, everyone's code names were. Even hers.

"Patience and Morticia are our foreign correspondents. Stefan was too, but it got too dangerous at Durmstrang, so now he's in tech. Patience is in her last year at Beaubaxton's, and Morticia at Grey's Academy. They keep an eye out for any trouble abroad, and give us a hand when we need it. Gred – he's in charge of supplies. We're all trained though, just in case,"

Hermione nodded.

Art resumed his ramblings. "We're all specialised. Demetrius, spell and curse breaking. Pascal, shields and charms. Chrys, psychology. Me, logistics and tactics. But it all gets very muddled, we help each other and often all end up in the library," He frowned, expression like Hermione's much seen one. "So really…we're not specialised,"

Demetrius snorted, absently making his utensils perform swirls in the air.

_Hermione and Demetrius, report to Classroom 5 immediately_ a voice boomed around them.

For the second time that day, the utensils dropped with a clatter.

"Let's go," Demetrius called, already halfway down the hall and not looking back.

Hermione followed quickly, keeping up with his brisk place as he led her through the many twist through the, she assumed, huge Manor.

They arrived in front of a plain brown door, identical to all the others in the corridor and every other door in the Manor.

Before Demetrius had the chance to get close to the doorknob, it was opened…by Professor McGonagall.

Hermione gasped. Memories of five years worth of _real_ magic crashed down on her, and she grasped the door frame for support.

Raising her head, she beamed at her Professor. Though she still couldn't remember anything that happened during her years away from The Fold, at least all her knowledge was restored.

Miss Know-it-all was back.

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**A/N** Okay, there was one plot hole in this chapter THAT I AM AWARE OF and it's meant to be there. Bear with me everyone, the characters and setting are still 'developing', but after next chapter, it'll probably the end of the setting development, so something will happen! Yay!

(Later) Sigh, I did so shit in my English mock, I actually FAILED part of it. This is like the first time I've failed anything. I thought that English was my second best subject! Is my story incredibly shit like my English results were? I would tell you what I got, but I live in NZ and we suffer under this idiotic system called NCEA that no one has heard of, let alone understand.


	6. Sorry can't think of title again

Disclaimer: Yesterday I went rampaging, today I went raiding and tomorrow I will go pillaging. Why? Because I'm a pirate and not JKR, silly.

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Slumping wearily in the chair, Professor McGonagall asked what seemed to be the millionth question of the day. "How are the Council's member's identity protected?"

Hermione was resting on the table, head down and eyes closed. "A powerful charm similar to that in the Fidelius in construction but with far more devastating consequences if – i-" here she broke off into a great yawn. They had been going at it all day, seeing if she truly remembered. Normally she would enjoy this sort of quiz, but after six hours of it, the novelty was wearing thin.

"If?" Professor McGonagall prompted, rubbing her eyes.

"If broken," she finished, shaking out her mess of hair.

"And who are the members of the Council?"

"Augusta, you, Mr. Chang, Tonks and Remus," Hermione replied automatically. She paused, trying to recall what she had just said. "Tonks and Remus?" she said again, looking hopefully up at her Professor.

Professor McGonagall gave a small smile. "What is Tonks' favourite ice-cream flavour?"

Hermione wrinkled her nose, before lowering her head once again. "Radish and Strawberry swirl,"

"What is Demetrius' favourite flavour?" she asked shrewdly.

"Chocolate cookie crumble," said her mouth, the words tumbling out fluidly.

Professor McGonagall suddenly sat up a little straighter, unbeknownst to Hermione, still facing down.

"In which place is Demetrius' biggest scar placed?"

"On his lower left back,"

"What shape does it resemble?"

"A crescent,"

There was a pause as Professor McGonagall considered her next question.

"You gave Demetrius a present on your fifteenth birthday. What was it?"

"I don't recall ever seeing him after I left,"

"Do you know who Demetrius really is?"

Hermione was confused as to the meaning of the question, and told Professor McGonagall just that.

"When…Gred," Professor McGonagall frowned. She had never liked that code name, even more ludicrous than J'Adore. "When Gred came through the door at lunchtime, you immediately knew who he was,"

"Oh, you mean his identity like how Gred is Ge-"

The Professor shushed her violently.

Hermione flushed. Underlying principle of every secret organisation: never speak of the code, as eyes and ears could be everywhere. "Ah…no, Gred seems to be the only one I remember,"

There was a short knock on the door, and then the brown haired Smith poked in. "Tea's ready," he announced, before disappearing out.

Hermione looked to Professor McGonagall. "I think that I have done all that I need," the Professor told her, swishing out of the room. "Come, I am feeling rather in need of nourishment,"

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Dinner was a fanciful affair.

Everyone had returned from their secret squirrel business, and was seated around the table, eagerly awaiting the meal.

Warm currents flowed from the open plan kitchen, where a stocky Chinese man stood with his back to them, sleeves rolled up, arms flying to control the wok, chop ingredients and add condiments at the same time. These currents moistened the air, bringing with them an excited atmosphere and tantalising smells.

Hermione was seated between Tonks and Artemis.

"When you're in the Order, do you pretend to be so clumsy to disguise your inner grace and distract them from your real identity?" Hermione asked the currently red headed Tonks.

Tonks let out a shriek of laughter, simultaneously throwing back her leg and slapping her thigh.

"Sorry to disappoint, but I really am this clumsy!"

Remus playfully ruffled her hair. "I'm quite amazed at her chopstick skills though – with knives and forks, she's bound to drop at least one, but no such worry with these fiddly little sticks!"

At the head of the table sat Augusta, deeply in conversation with Minerva McGonagall, former Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts school, current Headmistress with Dumbledore's death.

"Yes," she was saying, nodding her head, "its better to keep the school open, better to watch over the remaining children and save as many as we can,"

Minerva pursed her lips. "I simply can't believe that Albus died. He was a great mystery to all of us, we never found out which side he was on, or whether he had a side at all,"

Augusta smiled, and patted her hand. "Let the dead rest and be only brought back for happy memories,"

Hermione happily noted that Chrys wasn't sending her the usual death glares. Instead she was quite preoccupied, talking animatedly to her two friends. The one sitting in the middle seemed to be the ringleader, flowing blond hair draped over dark blue robe. She spoke with a distinctly American accent, and Hermione remembered her name as being Morticia. The other girl had elegant brown hair pulled into a knot, wearing the silks of the Beaubaxton's uniform. Her eyes were a surprising blue, and she was tall and slim like the other two. Catching Hermione's eye, she gave her a small smile before resuming their discussion.

"That's Patience," Art said, leaning over.

She smiled gratefully at him.

"Do you know who I really am yet?" he teased.

Leaning back, she studied his features. His warm brown eyes, slightly tousled brown hair, reminded her of someone, but then again looked complete unlike anyone she had ever met.

She sighed. This game was beginning to tire her.

His eyes danced as he watched her, starting to get irritated. "I'll give you a clue," he said, smiling. "I have been in Hogwarts. I'm not saying when and if I graduated, or if I was a student or a teacher, and I'm not saying if I knew you or not…but I have been to Hogwarts sometime in my life,"

Hermione wondered briefly if he was a Slytherin. She never took any note of the Slytherins. He was too young to be a teacher, looked around the same age as she. Tapping her chin…she gave up.

"I'll think it over," she said. "Now, tell me, what has the Fold been doing since my departure?"

His smile grew more contemplative rather than whimsical as he though as to where to start. "Well after the battle, our focus shifted from training to knowledge. The reason they defeated us so severely was that they had all this inside information on us, they knew every attack we had, ever tactic. So then we decided to gather information on _them_ too. We haven't actually got any information about the leader or his second in command, but all the other higher ranking member's secrets are open to us," he explained, smile turning sinister at the last few words.

"Oh…?" Hermione said, for a lack of better words. "Like what?"

"Well…apart from the leader and his second in command, there are four other major controllers. There's Peter Donne, he seems to be the one behind the whole werewolf thing…apparently the 'werewolves' have killed at least 5 of the wizarding community now. Makes it even harder for Remus to go out, Tonks in still trying to make them forget that Remus is a werewolf, it was a bad idea having his masquerade as one from the beginning. Then they have their Necromancer, Professor Sinatra, remember him from school? The other two, Drake and Serpentia, they train their new recruits in…"

The words died in his mouth and his eyes slid to the right. She followed his gaze, apprehensive as the only sound left was the steady sizzle of beef in the wok.

The door opened a crack, then flew right open as the weight of George Weasley fell on it.

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**A/N **All my loyal readers (yes you, I don't know who you are either), thank you for bearing with me. Thanks for everyone that's read this story, thanks for everyone that was bothered leaving a review. I love you all!

Now, this chapter thus ends the bit where the plot and characters are developing etc. From next chapter it will spring right into action and all that jazz. Also, my exams start on the 15 of November and so far I have studied diddly squat, and sadly enough, my friends are peer pressuring me into studying. The point: no idea when next update will be.


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